


a thief in the night (to come and grab you)

by rowenabane



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Body Horror, Horror, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Spiders, but it's pretty mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenabane/pseuds/rowenabane
Summary: A veiled face in the long dark night.(Or, the person sitting in the last pew is a mystery. Johnny doesn't know what Jungwoo is, but hewillfind out.)





	a thief in the night (to come and grab you)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I was super inspired by the arachne woo art and au by [@minyasih](https://twitter.com/minyasih) on twitter, and I just had to write this! all credit for the idea goes to miss yas who always has her galaxy brain activated!! be sure to check her out and show her lots of love <3 thank you for reading!
> 
> (also I have never been to church Like Ever so if there are any mistakes I apologize!)
> 
> title from disturbia by rihanna

Johnny Seo is not a good priest, He knows this. He also knows that the person seated in the very back pew, the one with the long black veil and trailing gown, is not one of his usual parishioners. He ends his sermon and heads to the back of the church, intending to greet the stranger and welcome them, perhaps get their name and make polite conversation, but is intercepted by several jabbering housewives. By the time he gets to the back pew, his mysterious visitor is gone.

Normal church days are Sundays and Wednesdays. Sundays are mass days, family affairs. Everyone comes who can. Wednesdays are mostly reserved for the more religious, the bible discussion and studies. Wednesday sermons stretch into the night. The church is emptier, but he prefers it to the noisy bustle of Sunday service.

His strange visitor never comes to church on Sundays. They only come on Wednesdays, slipping out the door into the night after service ends. Johnny still doesn’t know who they are. They do not speak.

He’s considered asking one of the other ladies at the church, but Johnny is not stupid. He sees how his other parishioners avoid them, how they lower their heads as they walk past. He doesn’t want to pry. He's still new in town, after all, and it wouldn’t do him any good to begin digging graves he does not intend to lie in. So he waits. Waits, and preaches. It’s his job. After all, he is the town priest.

His chance comes as he’s closing the church up after a Wednesday sermon. The church is dimly lit by candles and the night is a heavy black curtain outside the stained glass windows, but the lighting adds a sort of homey warmth to the space.

Johnny’s visitor is sitting in the back pew, silent, face veiled. All the other church goers have headed home by now. Johnny doesn’t know what he should do. Approach them? Say hello?

“Your sermon tonight was very good,” the veiled figure says, voice soft. Johnny starts, then regains his composure. “I enjoyed it quite a bit.”

“Thank you,” Johnny says, smiling cordially. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs.-?”

“Mr. Kim,” The voice says lightly, extending a pale hand from out under the black fabric of his veil. “But you may call me Jungwoo.”

“Nice to meet you, Jungwoo,” Johnny says, shaking his hand. The skin is cold and smooth.

“I used to never come to church,” Jungwoo says from beneath his veil. “But I couldn’t help myself when I heard there was a new priest in town.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve been able to come.” Johnny says, unsure of how to respond.

“Oh, me too,” Jungwoo replies, laughing lightly, The sound is like bells. “Your sermons are quite captivating. And you have such a nice voice.”

Johnny coughs. “Thank you.”

“Well,” Jungwoo says, standing. He gathers the black satin of his skirt in his hands. “I must be headed home. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Seo.”

“Wait,” Johnny interjects. “Let me walk you home. It’s dark out. You never know what might be lurking in the woods at night.”

Johnny can hear the smile in Jungwoo’s voice as he responds. “Very well, Mr. Seo. You may walk me home.”

Turns out, Jungwoo lives farther in the woods than Johnny expected. He lives in the very middle of the forest, deep within the gnarled and blackened trees. Johnny keeps tripping over roots and stumps but Jungwoo moves with practiced and effortless ease, his black skirt whispering over the dead leaves lining the forest floor. Jungwoo stops and Johnny realizes that they’ve come to a large mansion, the windows all dark and the wood rotting off the siding.

“Thank you,” Jungwoo says, climbing the stairs, Johnny trailing behind him. “Do be careful on the way back. The woods are tricky at night.”

“Good night, Jungwoo,” Johnny says.

“Good night, Mr. Seo.” His voice is a whisper.

...

Jungwoo always comes to Wednesday services, and Johnny always walks Jungwoo home after. It’s become a sort of routine. The y talk and joke and laugh in the woods but Jungwoo never takes off his veil. He is never seen without it.

Jungwoo rarely comes into town. In fact, he is never in town except on Wednesdays, when he is at the church. Johnny asked him about it, once.

“I never see you in town,” Johnny says. “How do you get groceries? Or medicine?”

Jungwoo shrugs, the motion rippling through his veil. “I have my ways.”

“What do you even eat?”

Johnny can feel Jungwoo’s grin in his voice. It is deadly. “Trespassers.”

... 

There are spiders in the church. Johnny is not an easily frightened man, but one night he wakes up to see a large black spider, abdomen dotted with red, right inside his window. He opens the window to let it out, careful to avoid the poisonous fangs, and watches it scurry onto its web outside.

He tries to go back to sleep, and dreams of webs and a soft voice he knows but does not recognize.

...

Johnny had to leave his last town because the town folk accused him of “consorting with the devil.” It had seemed so utterly ridiculous at the time. Him, consorting with the devil? He is no witch. He may not be a very good priest, but he likes to think he’s a good person.

But now...Johnny wonders if perhaps Jungwoo is the devil, meant to lead him astray. That soft voice and veiled face haunts his dreams and some nights Johnny wakes with Jungwoo’s name on his lips, and wonders if he was praying.

One night, as Johnny walks Jungwoo home, he asks the question. The one he was trying to avoid.

“Why do you always wear a veil?” He asks, the words out before he an stop them.

Jungwoo’s voice is not angry, but chiding. “Why not? Mr. Seo, you know better than to ask me that. You know I will not answer.”

They leave it at that. Johnny does not ask again.

...

Jungwoo does not show up at the next Wednesday service, and his absence is distracting enough that Johnny stutters three times during his sermon and drops his notes. As the people file out for the night, Johnny finds himself staring at the back pew, waiting for a visitor that might not come. Maybe Johnny has made him angry. Maybe he never wants to see him again.

He waits. Waits in the pews with a bible and the candles burning low around him. It is almost midnight when he hears a resounding knock on the church doors, a clang in the wood. He stumbles to his feet and pulls open the door.

Jungwoo is there, face veiled. Tonight he is wearing the deepest red, the satin of his skirt trailing behind him like blood. The veil that covers his face tonight is also red, and Johnny fancies he’s can see Jungwoo’s eyes through the material.

Johnny stutters. Who wears red in a church?

Jungwoo, that’s who.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Seo.” Jungwoo’s voice is soft, so soft Johnny wants to wrap himself up in it. “I’m afraid I’ve missed your entire sermon.”

“Well, you didn’t miss much,” Johnny says. “I dropped my notes.”

Jungwoo laughs. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“What are you doing here?” Johnny asks. “It’s so late. It’s very dark out.”

“I had to come see you,” Jungwoo murmurs. “Is that so bad?”

No, it isn’t. Johnny is slipping, slipping.

“Tell me, Mr. Seo, Johnny,” Jungwoo leans closer, his veil rippling. “Do you love me?”

His heart knows the answer before his mouth does. “Yes,” Johnny breathes. “I do.”

“Tell me, then,” Jungwoo continues. “Why do you love me? You have never seen my face. You have never been inside my home. What makes _you_ love me?”

“Your voice,” Johnny says, and he knows it is true the second he says it. “Everything you says sounds beautiful. You are intelligent and funny. You are someone I want to talk to, all the time.”

Jungwoo is silent a moment, then takes Johnny’s hands in his. “Johnny, would you still love me if you saw my face?”

Johnny wouldn’t care. Nothing could deter him. A person’s soul is more important than their appearance. Johnny is not a very good priest, but he holds some ideals close to his heart.

“I would,” Johnny says. “I would love you no matter what.”

Jungwoo laughs dryly, and even that is beautiful. “So many say that, but few mean it.”

Johnny is aching, aching for a face, aching for a glimpse of skin or eyes behind a veil. “I mean it. Jungwoo, I mean it.”

Jungwoos grip tightens around his hands, and he lifts his veil in a slow, sweeping motion.

The first thing Johnny notices is that the hands Jungwoo uses to lift his veil are not the same hands that he is holding. In fact, it seems Jungwoo has more hands than normal. Johnny counts: three pairs of arms. One lifting Jungwoo’s veil daintily above his head, one resting in his lap, and one with hands snugly in Johnny’s own. Johnny gapes and almost forgets to look at Jungwoo’s face. When he does, he gasps.

Johnny doesn’t know what he expected. Some hideous deformity, an ugly face marred by age or injury. It wasn’t this, surely it wasn’t this.

Jungwoo is unbelievably, undeniably, irrevocably beautiful. Johnny notices that first. Notices the sweep of his auburn hair against his pale skin and his warm brown eyes. His lips are pink and soft and set in a small smile. Then, he notices the teeth.

Jungwoo seems to have an abundance of teeth, mouth extending up his cheeks. Johnny isn’t afraid, not really, but there’s something about Jungwoo’s rows of pearl white fangs that urges Johnny to both lean closer and avert his eyes.

Jungwoo’s hands are cold in his and Jungwoo is looking down, looking at his hands and Johnny realizes that Jungwoo’s grip is almost unbearably tight.

“Jungwoo,” Johnny says gently, reaching a hand up to Jungwoo’s cheek. “I still love you.”

Jungwoo avoids his gaze, shy. He looks at the ground, then up at Johnny. “Do you? Really?”

And Johnny knows that there was someone, someone that took one look at Jungwoo’s face, at those many arms, and turned away in fear. Someone who broke Jungwoo’s heart, some time ago. He can see it in Jungwoo’s hopeful brown eyes, tinged at the corners with yellow, in the flutter of lace around his face.

And Johnny knows that Jungwoo does not deserve to go through that again.

“Of course,” Johnny says, raising one of Jungwoo’s hands to his lips. He kisses the knuckles and Jungwoo smiles, bright and radiant. The extra teeth add to the effect, dazzling him. Sharp. Everything about him is so, so sharp.

“Mr. Seo,” Jungwoo asks, voice like silk and cotton. “Will you walk me home?”

Johnny doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

...

The sky is dark. The moon is full. And Johnny is slipping, slipping.

One of Jungwoo’s arms is laced through his, another resting on his hand. It’s strange, how easily Johnny is ready to accept this, Jungwoo’s many-armed, many-fanged nature. He should be scared. He should be terrified. Any normal person would be.

But Johnny is not any normal person. He is a priest. And a priest knows no fear unless it is in the face of God.

Jungwoo sees much better in the dark than Johnny does. It’s something Johnny thinks he should have picked up on before, that first night in the woods, when Jungwoo led him through the night, eyes keener even beneath his veil.

Jungwoo’s veil is pushed back and he talks amiably. Johnny is transfixed by the way his mouth moves when he talks, how his jaw changes his entire face as he speaks. It’s mesmerizing.

When they arrive at Jungwoo’s house, deep in the woods and dark, so dark, Johnny pauses. Hesitates.

Jungwoo pulls the door open. “Well,” Jungwoo says, smiling. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

...

Jungwoo’s house is not a lair. It is not a den, or a nest, floor covered with skulls and blood. It is a home, with doilies on the tables and candles everywhere. The windows have thick black curtains pulled over them, blacking out the windows to anyone who would look in. Johnny brushes a hand over the fine lace running along the tables, thin and delicate as silk.

The only thing out of place are the cobwebs strung in the corners of the ceiling. Johnny doesn’t see any spiders, but he gets the feeling that they are there.

Jungwoo turns to him. “Would you like some tea?”

Johnny nods wordlessly, almost collapsing into the nearest chair.

Jungwoo works with all his arms. One to put the pot on and one for sugar and one to hold the saucer and Johnny never knew that one could be so adept with that many arms. He had always been limited to two.

Jungwoo hands him a delicate cup and Johnny shakes as he takes it. He shrieks as he sees something crawling across the table.

It’s a black widow spider.

Jungwoo coos as he scoops the arachnid into his hands. “No need to frighten our guest, dear. Mr. Seo is a friend.” He releases it onto the counter and it scurries away. Johnny shakes as he sips his tea, and he can hear the clink of porcelain in his unsteady hands. Jungwoo frowns worriedly at him.

“Are you okay?” Jungwoo says. His head tilts.

“I’m fine,” Johnny says. “It’s just...a lot to take in. I’ve never seen someone with so many arms.” There’s no use in lying.

Jungwoo’s voice is sweet like honey, and his smile is a bladed sunset. “I understand. You are the first person to look at my face who did not scream on sight. You must be...surprised.” His voice is not bitter, but there’s something there that Johnny can’t read.

He leans across the table and takes one of Jungwoo’s hands. “I just didn’t expect you to have so many hands. How am I supposed to hold them all?”

Jungwoo laughs, a hand coming up to cover his face. There’s a hint of a blush on his pale skin. It's adorable, and Johnny wants to make him smile, make him laugh more.

“You're beautiful,” Johnny breathes, and Jungwoo’s face shifts into an expression of shock. His hand withdraws.

“I'm sorry,” Johnny says quickly. “I didn't mean to-”

“No,” Jungwoo replies quickly. “It’s fine. It’s just… no one has ever said that to me before.”

Johnny can’t believe it. Because even though Jungwoo is something else, something with many hands and teeth, something that wears veils to hide its face, Jungwoo is still beautiful. Johnny can’t imagine him looking like anything else.

He opens his mouth to speak and Jungwoo leans forward, kissing him. The motion is too fast for Johnny to catch and Jungwoo is actually kneeling on the table, mouth pressed against his, the red fabric of his skirt draping over the edge of the table. Two sets of arms prop him up as he leans forward, the remaining arms resting on Johnny’s shoulders.

The kiss is hungry, hungry like a caged animal and Johnny realizes now what Jungwoo reminds him of. A spider. And Johnny is a fly caught in the web of his arms, the sticky sweet honey of his voice.

And Johnny should be terrified, but he has never been less afraid.

He pulls Jungwoo closer but he miscalculates and the chair tips backwards and they go crashing to the floor, a mess of arms and legs and silk. Jungwoo catches his head with his arms and braces himself over Johnny, his cheeks flushed. In the commotion Johnny has cut himself on one of Jungwoo’s teeth, but as he winces Jungwoo leans forward and, in one smooth motion, licks the budding blood off the wound.

It’s terrifying. Terrifying, and also _insanely_ hot.

Jungwoo pauses and looks down at Johnny, ruffles of red silk splayed around them like a puddle of blood. He’s hesitating, and Johnny doesn’t know why. He places one delicate hand on Johnny’s chest, runs a finger along his cheek. Johnny closes his eyes. Prays.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” Jungwoo asks, voice barely a murmur.

“Why would I be?” Johnny asks.

Jungwoo’s toothy smile ends him. He has slipped and fallen and he can’t seem to regain his balance. Jungwoo must be the devil, some type of demon, an omen of destruction. But Johnny would gladly let him destroy. Destroy, and rebuild him from scratch.

Jungwoo’s hands work at the buttons on his shirt and run through his hair as he kisses him and Johnny wonders why the hell normal people weren’t born with three pairs of arms because this, _this_ is an experience he never thought he’d be having. He fumbles blindly with the clasps on the back of Jungwoo’s dress, fingers slipping on the material.

“How the hell do you undo this,” he pants, and Jungwoo laughs graciously before undoing the clasps himself, never once losing contact with his skin.

Johnny can feel teeth in their kisses and there’s hunger there, too, both his and Jungwoo’s. Johnny doesn’t realize how much he wants this until Jungwoo’s dress is sliding haphazardly off his shoulders and his skin is burning where Jungwoo has touched him. It's unholy, how much he wants this.

Tomorrow he can pray. Tonight, the only thing he wants on his tongue is Jungwoo.

...

Time passes and Johnny is wrapped up in a web. A web of wanting something he shouldn’t, a web of desire for something terrifying.

He’s in the church late one night, working on some papers about church funds when he feels arms around his waist. Many arms.

“Good evening Jungwoo,” he says, Jungwoo’s breath fanning across his cheek. “What are you doing here?” For a second Johnny wonders how he got up to his room since the church is locked, but then remembers that spiders always find a way inside.

Jungwoo’s veil is up and he sits on the edge of Johnny’s desk, the white satin of his dress catching the last flickering candlelight as it plays through the room. “I didn’t want to wait for Wednesday.” His voice is playful, sweet.

Johnny pulls him closer, and it is only then does he realize the depth of his wanting. He would move mountains for Jungwoo, run away and vanish with him. Damn the church. Damn the people.

Damn him. Hell is warmer, anyway.

The candles wink out and Johnny prays to sharp teeth and arms in the dark, the rustle of satin the only sound in the endless black night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks again for reading, and once again I could not have written this without queen yas's amazing art and inspiration! be sure to check her out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/minyasih) and look at her [arachne woo art!](https://twitter.com/i/moments/1077343210924621824)  
> thank you again!


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